


we’re at war (this is a really bad time to do your makeup)

by TheLadyTeddy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, TW: Blood, sorta inspired by blue exorcist, tw: death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:29:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6264151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyTeddy/pseuds/TheLadyTeddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya Stark is a First Class Knight of the House of Black and White, she’s one of the highest ranked knights in the Order, she’s partnered with Gendry Waters a well-meaning Second Class Knight, she’s being groomed to take over the House of Black and White by Paladin Jaqen H’ghar and she has big jobs to do, demons to slay, spirits to exorcise, monsters to destroy, squires to train, pages to scare and a demon shadow-wolf to keep in check. She doesn’t have time for games.</p>
<p>When her elder sister Sansa has been put under direct tutelage to become a Knight of Black and White it’s become a bit of a shitshow. Sansa has her own agenda, as demons grow stronger, knights lose their path, and only a select few can help stop destruction. It’s going to take an army of Knights of all walks of life; bastards, highborns, spies, lycans, werewolves, pyromancers, vampires, aeromancers, terramancers, shape-shifters to keep the demons and dark monster of their world at bay.</p>
<p>It’s not really a great time to worry about black demon blood on your skirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. it's all blood to me

**prologue : it’s all blood to me**

 

The shriek of despair made the woman stumble and she fell forward, landing on her hands, ripping open soft flesh there as gravel and dirt dug into her cuts. She was well aware that she was carrying weapons, knew spells but as she turned into her ass she watched as the demon approached closer, his clothing hanging off their pale body in tatters, blood dripping from its mouth and fury in its deep red eyes, it wore great massive ram’s horns on its head and stalked closer to her.

 

There was a rustle in the bushes, and the redhead turned her head to the side and met soulless grey eyes, black blood dripping from the pits. It was a woman, crouching near the ground and dressed in light grey, white and black, blood seeping from a few wounds and their mouth bloody and filled with sharp fangs as it breathed heavily.

 

“A-Arya?” 

 

“S-s-san-zaaa,” it muttered-- her sister muttered as she stepped through the bushes, hands with fingernails like talons. The girl reached for her, claws vicious and dripping black demon blood  _ ‘Oh Gods... _ ’. 

 

The demon behind her let out a roar, it’s throat bellowing out a harsh sound and Sansa clapped her hands over her ears. Then two more figures burst onto the scene, one was Daenerys who flew in partially changed into her black and red dragon form, carrying a brown haired terramancer in her grip.

 

“Sansa, move! Quickly, Arya is going to forget who she is soon.” the terramancer grabbed the squire by her arms and pulled her away and towards the trees, a now human Daenerys following at a faster pace. 

 

“She’s my sister! She wouldn’t hurt me!” Sansa managed to break her grip and turned only to fall into the willowy Targaryen who grabbed her arms and forced her to stand still.

 

“She’s not your sister and you need to leave immediately.” there was great sorrow in her eyes and it seeped into her voice. 

 

“I’m not leaving her like this.” The demon-looking Arya growled as she fell on all fours, back cracking as more black blood seeped into her cheeks and her mouth opened to release a long bloodcurdling howl. “We have to help her! What did she do?”

 

“She awakened her fucking demon blood! We’ve gotta go Sansa, now!”

 

“What’s gonna happen to her!”

 

“They’ve already called in reinforcements Sansa.” Margaery sounded wounded, pain lacing her usually melodic voice.

“So they’re going to save her.”

 

Daenerys looked sorry, painfully so, “Arya has broken her Knightly Vows by calling upon her demon blood, she’s become a demon herself. There is no saving a demon on a rampage. They will put her down.”

 

Down. Down like a dog. Like her baby sister was a creature. An animal. They were going to kill her younger sister, who she once teased and made cry more than once, who used to cut flowers for their father and get into fights with the neighborhood kids. The pup who became a knight at thirteen, the seventeen-year-old knight who smoked and trained every morning with pages and squires. Her sister. They were going to kill her baby sister.

 

It was all her fault, she couldn’t take care of herself, she couldn’t learn or fight and her sister was forced to do it for her. She went looking for a way to prove herself. She’d done this. She’d called her sister for help and her sister in a fit of desperation to save her told her to run and she did. Her sister had become a demon, to save her elder sister.

 

Now they were going to kill her.

 

Sansa turned in Daenerys grip, broke it and went sprinting at full tilt, branches and sticks scraping along her arms and grabbing at her clothes. She stumbled but kept moving, back, back to her baby sister, her blue eyes dripping with tears as she approached the clearing she’d left Arya and the Demon at.

 

A frighteningly human scream broke the air, and soon Margaery and Daenerys were at her heels, following frantically as another one followed it. Sansa broke out of the forest and saw her, Arya, lying in a pool of black blood and Jaqen kneeling over her, a knife held to her throat.

 

There was a sword buried into her sister’s chest, pinning her to the ground, and evidence of fire scorching her usually pale skin. She was sobbing lowly in the back of her throat, black demon blood welling and her once demon eyes returning to their normal lycan feralness. She looked tiny lying there, all five feet and three inches of her, weighing in at 115 pounds. She was a tiny thing, a strong thing, however, she looked infinitely smaller pinned by a massive sword through her chest, no doubt having ripped through her organs and broken ribs to be buried so deep in the ground.

 

“Please d-don’t. Jaqen p-please,” she was openly crying, her tears were black, her mouth was foaming and there was blood all over her and the tattered cloth that was once her clothing. She was pleading, begging for her life. There was still some humanity left in her it seemed, some ability to recognize that she was not a demon. There was a  _ chance _ .

 

“I’m sorry girl, but this is how it must end. A man must do his Service as a knight of the Order,” he pressed the blade closer into her skin, his forehead resting lightly against her own. “Valar Dohaeris Arya Stark.” there was true pain lacing his tone and Sansa was sure she’d never heard the Paladin speak with so much emotion.

 

“Valar Morghulis.” Arya spoke quietly, but still her body was twitching, her tears were still falling and there was panic and pleading in her voice as if begging Jaqen to stop, to end his Service, to not make this choice. But he was Faceless, he’d always been Faceless, and the Faceless did what was best for the Order, no matter the personal cost. 

 

“What do we say to the God of Death?” he leaned down and Margaery and Daenerys gripped Sansa tightly, stopping her from moving forward. But their efforts were futile, she could not breathe, she could not move, she felt nothing but a steel vice around her heart and blood boiling in her veins. 

 

“Not. Today.” Arya jutted her chin forward, her voice filled with childish defiance, but great fear in her voice, her far too young voice.

 

Jaqen leaned up to press a kiss to her forehead, then his face hardened into cool glass, almost too emotionless and perfect then buried the knife deep into Arya’s throat, the gurgling noise of Arya gasping to find air, to find life had Sansa falling bonelessly to the ground. Her throat devoid of any scream as she watched as her baby sister’s body twitched, and then fall motionless, pinned to the ground by a sword and a knife, blood dripping from her body like water. The Paladin stood, his hands covered in blood and so much anger and sorrow on his face. His eyes flickered and caught her own and stalked towards her, Margaery and Daenerys’ hands on her shoulder’s kept her in position, refusing to let her run.

 

He looked at her, and gripped her chin with a warm slick hand, Arya's blood as is smearing on her chin. She could smell the sharp iron and copper and her stomach roiled. “Make her sacrifice worth it Sansa Stark, or so help me by the Many-Faced God I will take my due for my student. She was the greatest among us and you broke her, this blood is on your hands,” he smeared more of the black blood on her pale face. He left her there walking towards the tree, a black and white figure as a small group gathered at the forest's edge, all staring at her with dark eyes. Sansa sobbed crawled towards Arya, her eyes were open, wide, unseeing and panicked as she stared up at the sky. There was blatant fear in her dulling grey orbs, no sadness or guilt. Only pure unadulterated fear, it was all her fault. She’d gotten her sister killed.

 

Sansa reached to pull the sword from her stomach, tugging it until it clattered to the ground, her hands slicked with blood as she pulled Arya into her lap, cradling her head, running fingers through unruly dark locks, pushing it away from her face. 

 

“I-I’m so-sorry, I’m so f-f-fucking s-s-sorry.. Oh, gods...” Sansa was sobbing, brokenly as her sister’s lifeless eyes stared up at her, mouth still bloody and teeth still jagged, her blood still black like a demon's, but her eyes. Her fucking eyes, their father’s eyes, their cousin Jon’s eyes. They were staring at her, terrified, hopeless and looking so young. Eyes of a frightened eighteen-year-old. Sansa clapped a hand over her mouth, Arya’s blood slicking her lips and she sobbed, and felt bile coming up in her stomach as she threw up to the side. She could see boots in the corner of her vision and raised her eyes to meet hard lavender ones.

 

“You have destroyed a life with your foolishness Sansa Stark, you’ve destroyed your own blood with your selfishness and pride.” the Targaryen knelt down and grabbed Sansa by the arm, harshly yanking her upwards, Arya’s head smacking the ground with a sick thump, lifelessly. There was no sharp cry of annoyance or abuse, no curse word or threatened genitalia by way of the blade, only a long-held silence from the body of her baby sibling. “Leave now, go to the House, Margaery and I must take care of the body.”

 

“Wh-what, it must be sent to the North.” Sansa knew her family's burial rites, and traditions, to be buried in the Winterfell crypts with a clipping of weirwood in their hands alongside the bones of their ancestors. 

 

“All demons burn Sansa, you know this.”

 

“My sister was not a demon!” she shrieked, “She needs to be buried in the crypts, flesh and bone of Stark blood must be laid as they always have in Winterfell.”

 

“She will burn, and we shall send her ashes home. There is no need for Lord Stark to see Arya like this.” Daenerys motioned towards the shell of a body, covered in blood, lacerations, burns and a gaping hole in her stomach. “She deserves more honor than the be seen like this.”

 

Margaery approached and grabbed her arm, “Ned is taking you back to the House.” The lean knight nodded, his pale eyes and hair glistening in the moonlight though his usually handsome face was drawn as he stared at the corpse on the ground.

 

Sansa stared at them, a pit growing deep in her stomach, they weren’t moving, staring at her. The wind had stopped and there was no more smell in the air. Arya bleeding on the ground, staring at her with soulless grey eyes, but the smell of her pack sisters flesh was no longer in her nose. Sansa turned around and around.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

Laughter rang through the air, a there was a voice.

 

“What do we say to the God of Death girl?” the voice sounded, unlike anything she’d heard before, so many voices at one time, yet sounding so melodic and soothing. 

 

“Not Today.” words Arya had always said, told herself, in the mirror, before missions, drilled into her head along with all squires. Ever since that first training session, that’s all she’d repeated, a motto of sorts. 

 

Suddenly the world dropped away from her vision, the colors of the night, forest, the silver of Daenerys hair, the green fire around Margaery’s hands, the black blood on her hands faded away and she suddenly awoke, screaming. Grabbing her forehead she reached blindly out, for anything, something. There-- a phone, grabbing the item she flickered it to life with a touch of a button, there was her alarm, some electronica song or other, in big bold letters it said:

 

**_FIRST DAY OF KNIGHT TRAINING._ **

**_Agenda_ ** :

 

  * __get ready__


  * _try not to piss off arya_


  * _get knighted_


  * _:) :) ;)_


  * _GO GET THEM STARK!!!!!!_



 

 


	2. so you wanna be a demon slayer?

**so you wanna be a demon slayer?**

The last time Sansa had seen her sister it was for her knighting ceremony four years ago, her sister had always been a lean scrappy little thing, too wolfish for their mother’s tastes and far too boyish as well. The elder sister would be lying if she said she had missed her sister over the past years of her being gone from the house, of her younger sister’s 5 am morning drills in the yard with the sword, running and marksmanship with a gun. All to prove her efforts to join the House of Black and White, one of the most prestigious Knightly Orders. Robb had left years ago for The Northern Order, Jon for the Wall, Bran had his heart set on King’s Landing. It was traditional for Starks to be warriors, demon slayers and protectors against the night and winter. Arya had spent years longing over becoming a knight, begging their mother and father, training and studying unlike how Jon and Robb turned 10 and simply told their parents which Order they wished to join.

 

But Sansa still couldn’t bring herself to miss her sister, who held in contempt all things she loved. Who for whatever reason held the eye of their father, was not Sansa the daughter any man wanted? -- learned, pretty, polite, lady-like. At least that’s what her mother said a man would want from a daughter, and what was expected from their station. But it seemed as though between the pair of them Arya received the most affection, the deepest laughs and the most thoughtful gifts, and Arya had doted upon their father, at his knee at all times learning, talking or simply basking in his presence with a type of comfortability that Robb had trouble getting out of their stoic father, the Lord of Winter. Once Warden of the Order of the North, now retired Knight who took missions in dire need, a fearsome warrior and one of the most respected men in the North. 

 

Sansa was jealous. Her horse-faced sister, with the too loud voice and forever bandaged and bruised skin, who made trouble and fought with weapons that no lady ought to. But at the time of her knighthood Sansa couldn’t reconcile the image of her sister, with light grey eyes and eyebrows too thick for her face, messy dark brown curls and dark lycan markings on her face to this girl. Dressed in all white; strapped up boots, leather pants, tunic with simple grey cords tying the front together. The necklace their father had given her proudly against her skin, the three clawed necklace that was a known family heirloom that had been given to the third child and second daughter, it caused a quiet stir among the Northern clans and families to know and see Arya wearing it. Her family's favor given to a woman, not even their famed Aunt Lyanna the Winter’s Rose was given the family heirloom. She watched as her sister walked down the long white and black aisle, half her head shaved, the other half having her dark brown hair combed to the side of her face, a long scar from the corner of her left eyebrow and marring a path to the edge of her right cheek over the bridge of her nose, and a long-sword strapped to her back. There were four knights at the end, each holding a wicked blade as she stood in front of them, legs a shoulder width apart and hands clasped behind her back.

 

“Red, like the blood you spill.” one of the hooded knights cut her upper bicep, letting the blood stain her white clothing and Arya did not flinch. 

 

“Steel, for the weapons you carry.” a stab this time to her right shoulder, she did not move an inch.

 

“White, for purity you protect.” slash to the upper upper thigh, Sansa saw no tremble in Arya’s stance though a bead of sweat dripped down her neck.

 

“Grey, for the name you carry.” a blade across her collarbone, a few inches and it would slit her throat.

 

Then a man from the shadows, carrying a heavy black cloak edged in white, a gold cord hanging from the edge of the collar with a rounded polished sapphire button at the edge. He unfurled the cloak and held it out and Arya fell to her knees, blood seeping from her wounds, her head bowed.

 

“A girl is unworthy of the honor.” she managed to speak the traditional words, no pain in her voice, simply humble as hands held out palm up as if offering something to the strange man with the two-tone hair.

 

“A girl is worthy of the honor.” the man replied, and let the cape hang loosely in his grip with fine fingers.  

 

“Black, for the night you guard the people from.” He held no blade and instead draped the cloak over her back and Arya looked up.

 

“Valar Dohaeris.” she managed to get out, the words louder and stronger, though Sansa could hear the clumped emotions locked in her throat. 

 

“Valar Morghulis.” the man laid a hand on her shoulder and then took a step back

 

Arya stood, reaching up to fasten the cloak to her person, blood seeping into the fabric.

 

“We welcome into our ranks, Ser Arya Lyanna Stark of the Order of Black and White the She-Wolf of Braavos.” Cheers broke out as Arya stood, the girl was only thirteen yet she looked so much older, blood dripping and staining her clothing, but there was a deep elation and pride on her face. She had become a knight, achieving it in three years, hardly a record but noteworthy. “She will Serve and she will Die for the House. All rise and honor Ser Arya Stark for her beginnings of service, she is worthy of knighthood and worthy of becoming my own personal protege.” The silence that dimmed the room was nothing to the gaping look in Arya’s face, as she once again fell to her knees, Sansa could feel her own jarring at the impact. Her sister put her forehead to the ground, genuflecting to the man, blood dripping onto the white and black marble.

 

“Ser Paladin, a girl is not worthy of this.” her voice rang out around the hall.

 

“A Knight is worthy, a Knight will personally learn what the Paladin has to teach, a Knight will Serve in all that a Paladin needs to be Served. A Knight called Arya Stark will enter into my service.”

 

“As you say Ser Paladin, a Knight called Arya will Serve. Valar Dohaeris.”

 

“Valar Morghulis.”

 

Sansa for the next four years had only seen Arya with this memory, dressed in white with a billowing black cape around thin shoulders, red seeping from her wounds and a look of elation upon her youthful feral face. She was a knight, a chosen student of the Paladin himself, and she looked the part. 

 

So the elder sister wondered what her sister looked like now, four years later at the age of seventeen, it was early fall nearing Arya's 18th year during the end of the Wolf Moon the latest and coldest month of the year. She’d only seen her sister a handful of times over the year, she’d come home, sleep in her old room, have a drink with their father in their study and then leave as quickly as she came, often doing solo missions in the North or aiding the Order there. She caught glimpses of her sleeping sister in her bedroom, curled under covers, black and white leathers, clothing of grey and steel weapons tossed onto the floor, or while she slinked out the door heading towards a large motorcycle parked in the yard that she’d ride away on. But now she was here, standing in the Office of the Paladin Jaqen H’ghar with her sister just outside the door and their father sitting on a plush chair nursing a glass of whiskey. 

 

“Sansa, I’m going to ask you one more time. Are you sure you wish to join the Order?”

 

“I’m sure Father.”

 

Though the distrubing dream she had the night before had quaked her, shaking her very bones and she felt as though she wished to flee these walls. But she shoved the traitrous thoughts to the back of her mind and nodded, jaw tight. It was nothing but a dream, strange, but a  _ dream _ . Nothing more and nothing less.

 

“A girl does not know what she is sure of.” the Paladin spoke, eyes clear and deep blue. 

 

“A girl is a woman.” she shot back.

 

“A girl seeks to disrespect the Paladin of this Order? A girl does not know the meaning of Service.”

 

“Paladin H’ghar please excuse Sansa, she’s simply nervous about joining.”

 

“Lord Stark, your youngest daughter is exemplary, a true knight who serves and is loyal and faithful to the Order of Black and White. Ser Arya is one of my finest and strongest warriors, she ought to not be distracted by a girl who is not sure about Service. There are others who wish to serve and die for the Order, those are the ones I wish Ser Arya to focus upon, not upon an unsure whimsical girl.” his voice was deep, harsh as he leveled a look at Sansa who shuddered, “She shudders at my gaze, when a woman called Arya came to the House she laughed and spit on my shoe and said she was not afraid. A girl has no valor in her heart, she is not a Knight of Black and White Lord Stark, I wish for you to reconsider.”

 

“My daughter wishes to Serve the Order, you will allow her in upon our agreement, she will train and learn and become a knight or leave. That is what we have decided.”

 

“Or die. A girl may die trying to reach her goal.”

 

“Arya did not die.”

 

“A woman was born to be a Knight and wished to attain it, a girl is doing this on a girlish whim and fantasy.”

 

“Which is no different than any other boy or girl coming to the House to attain glory!”

 

“So be it then, if Lord Stark wishes for you to enter our ranks you shall. A man wishes for you to know that this is not a game or a whim. This is Evil and Light. Black and White. Death and Service. Valar Morghulis, Valar Dohaeris.” her ground out before standing and raising a single hand and twitched his fingers, “Prepare yourself for your Service Sansa Stark of House Stark.”

 

Sansa watched as a lithe figure stepped into the room, her hair was messy and swept to the side, the rest of it’s length pulled back into a ponytail, the right side was shaved with silver earrings marching up the side. She was wearing a black jacket studded in bronze buttons and buckles, the lapels were white as were the shoulder accents that held a heavy leather sash in place where a long sword was strapped against her back. Under the jacket was a button-down shirt white with black edging the collar. Her legs were shod in black leather, belts and buckles and odd straps and runes tightened around lithe legs that led to boots with similar buckles and bracings. Then Sansa met her face, it was similar to the one she knew years before, except slimmer, a sharp jawline and a toothy smirk on her lips, her heavy lycan markings were longer and more pronounced in black and her scar across her face was still dark and there was the three-clawed necklace lying against pale skin.

 

She looked nothing of the bloody body lying on the ground, blood dropping from her stomach and she could feel herself breathing easier. She noted the grey eyes flickering at her, but nothing more-- no doubt her sister’s senses were strong and able hear her very heartbeat.

 

“Valar Morghulis Ser Arya Stark.”

 

“Valar Dohaeris Paladin.” Arya bowed at the waist and Sansa could see that under the tunic and jacket there was dark lines and markings on her back, tattoos no doubt. “A girl was summoned?” Arya kept her eyes trained upon Paladin H’ghar.

 

“You have been assigned to train a page to knighthood Ser Stark, you will train her, teach her and work with her until the time that she leaves, is knighted or dies. This is your task.”

 

Arya’s eyes did not flicker, “Ser Paladin I must protest, I have much work that has been previously assigned to me, I am to venture Beyond the Wall with Ser Gendry, Ser Daenerys, Ser Drogo and Ser Margaery in the month of Wolf Moon to join the Expedition. I also must take upon a Squad of Squires and am the teacher of Weapons Mastery.”

 

“This is not a request Ser Stark, this is an assignment, one that you will complete.” his voice was harsh and Arya cowed and nodded. “You will not be joining the expedition Beyond the Wall unless your page dies, leaves or are knighted. You will stay within Braavos and the House, do I make myself clear.” Arya ventured a look at Sansa, a deep anger burning in her grey slitted eyes, feral eyes. It was obvious by the Paladin’s voice that Arya had at several time disobeyed the leader of the House.

 

“Yes Ser Paladin.” she ground out and bowed again. “When will training begin?”

 

“Tomorrow.”

 

“As you say Ser Paladin.” Arya bowed again lowly at the waist.

 

“Good, you are dismissed Ser Stark.”

 

“May a girl stay Ser Paladin.” Arya kept her eyes trained on the ground, still in a parade-rest position.

 

“Yes Arya may stay.” Jaqen stood and walked around the table and patting her shoulder, in an almost comforting manner “I will take my leave.” Arya nodded as the Paladin left the office.

 

The tense military harshness around her body loosened and she fell into a slump, hands finding their way into her pockets, her chin jutted out and she sighed before looking at their Father.

 

“Hello Papa.” her voice was gruffer than before.

 

Ned Stark finished his drink in a single gulp and stood, opening his arms, “C’mere pup.”

 

The knight flung herself into their father’s arms, tightly gripping him around the waist, “It’s good to see you Papa.” she was smiling before pulling you away, “Though I have to say I’m royally pissed I’ve gotta fucking train this princess over here. What were you thinking dumping her on me!” Zero to Sixty flat and her sister was chomping at the bit.

 

“She wished to join Arya.”

 

“So you send her to King’s Landing with all the rest of the pansy wannabe knights, or the North where Robb can watch her, not on Death’s fucking doorstep. Do you know the death count in the House?”

 

“I knew it before you entered, and I know it now Arya.”

 

“Exactly, I’m one of eight in a Page class of fifty that lived to Knighthood Papa, and one in three from them to become a First Class Knight. This is no laughing matter, it’s not a whim that a girl can simply decide upon in a moment of weakness or fantasy.”

 

“Sansa is your pack-sister, she wishes to train to be a knight and Robb is simply too busy to help her.”

 

“Robb is a Second-Class Captain of the North, I’m a First-Class Lieutenant of the First Platoon, I’m a teacher, a specialist! I’m far more busy than Robb has ever been.” Arya snarled as she began pacing across the floor, faintly clawed fingers combing through messy hair. “I was supposed to go Beyond the Wall on a expedition. Long-term! I was going to come back and become an Arc Knight Papa! I was supposed to go with Ygritte, Jon, Samwell, Gilly, Daenerys, Drogo, Margaery and Gendry. Now I’m going to be stuck here teaching the lady how to get black demon blood out of her fucking silk while they chase Shadow Cats, Frost Giants and hunt White Walkers!” Arya exclaimed, throwing her hands up before rounding on Sansa, “Are you still on your suppressants? Have you ever handled a blade? Did you memorize any of the Holy Texts? What about magic? Runes? Anything? Have you studied a single thing?” she sounded frantic, panicked, even oddly a little worried.

 

“I--, a little here and there from the Book of Seven, and ahh... Bran showed me how to use a knife.” Sansa cinched her eyebrows together.

 

“You mean like this.” Arya moved faster than she thought possible, a knight buried just a fraction of an inch from her foot, quivering in the wood and Sansa took a step back and fell on her arse, “Did you learn that?”

 

“N-no.”

 

“Useless, Father I’m begging you to reconsider. You cannot do this to me! I know the House owes you a debt, but allow me to repay it. I’ll hunt demons, I’ll spill blood, whatever the cost. Just do not allow this to come to pass Father!” Arya looked at their father, and it was odd to hear her call him as such.

 

“Pup, I cannot, this will be done because Sansa wants this.”

 

“Oh so she asks and suddenly it’s alright, she doesn’t have to fight for it, be put on a probationary period like Mother gave me, doesn’t have to beg for training or learn herself. Doesn’t have to spend four years training just to be allowed to go. She does nothing and gets rewarded!” Arya stalked forward and kneeled to pull the knife from the ground. “I had to fight and beg and simper just to be allowed to join, and she just gets it. Handed to her on a silver platter. Like she always does; looks, intelligence, favor. Everything, can I not simply have this. Why did you have to take this too?” Arya looked at Sansa with a harshness and pleading in her eyes. “Why couldn’t you have left well enough alone, get married and pop out a few fucking kids without barging into my space.” 

 

Sansa balked and glared at her sister, “I am just as powerful as you are, or I can be. Who says a knight cannot get married and have children. Father did it! Aunt Lyanna did it--”

 

“Aunt Lyanna fucked a married man, had his bastard and then shipped it off to live with us as our brother while she became the Warden of the fucking North and then her stupid fucking Targaryen boy-toy got his ass killed by Robert Baratheon. Don’t try using the fact that Aunt Lyanna had Jon as an excuse to say that women can become knights. It’s far more difficult than that. Being a knight means long missions, killing, death, watching others die while you escape. It means training at all times of the day, discipline, respect. You are giving up a very possible future doing this Sansa, I gave up a very possible future of becoming a wife and mother--”

 

“Oh please, you never wanted to be a wife or a mother.” Sansa snarled back. “Besides, I don’t think there is a man alive that would take you for wife. Who would want a horse-faced bitch.” she was being cruel and looking at her sister now her feral looks could be seen as fierce and beautiful. It was unfair to say that her sister would not turn heads, for now she’d finally grown into her looks. The hurt look on Arya’s clenched at her own but she stood her ground. 

 

Arya clenched her fist and took a long even breath, grey eyes closing and Sansa’s inner animal purred taking this sudden silence as a sign of submission, finally managing to get a one up on her usually far more dominant younger sibling-- until she felt a very heavy grip, not a physical one but an instinctual one. Arya’s eyes opened and the whites of her eyes had gone black, her pupils narrowing to tight vertical slits and the grey of her eyes becoming lighter and more pronounced. She growled and took a step forward, her muscles tightened and as soon as it came Sansa felt another far more loving presence, their father allowing for his own lycan blood to boil under his skin. Of all the siblings Arya was the most with the wolfs-blood, or the traits of a lycan, while all the siblings could tap into it Arya was brimming with it, tapping into it with ease and within seconds. She took no suppressants and allowed for her wolf to bloom alongside her as she grew up, as all Starks before their generation had before. Aunt Lyanna blamed the fact that Robb could only do a partial lycan change on the fact that he’d been on suppressants for most of his life, while Arya had stopped taking them around seven. 

 

“That is enough Arya,” their father stepped between them, his own pupils having slitted and his lycan markings more pronounced and thicker. 

 

Arya snarled but took a step back before bowing lowly, “A woman apologizes for her behavior, a woman will learn to further rein in her emotions.” her voice was gruff guttural, “A daughter asks for her sire to forgive her.”

 

“It’s alright Arya.”

 

Her younger sister nodded and dodged the hand that went to grab her shoulder and she spun on her foot.

 

“A knight has duties to attend to, the girl may ask the secretary for a key to the knight’s rooms.” Arya’s voice was rough as she began to walk out of the door, “A daughter will contact her father soon. Goodbye.”

 

Sansa watched as her father turned, a hurt expression on his face, and he looked down at Sansa before reaching out to gently caress her face. “Oh you summer child,” he called all of them that, except Jon and Arya, they were pups, winter children, “Try and not rile up Arya too much, what you’re asking her for is of great inconvenience to her, she could refuse.”

 

“You heard the Paladin this was not a request.”

 

“Do you honestly think Paladin H’ghar would’ve let you stayed had she protested more? He does not wish you to join the House, neither do I, nor Arya. With Arya’s say you wouldn’t join, but she’s allowing it. She’s just panicked and worried and very upset right now Sansa, please. Just try and be grateful towards your sister.”

 

“Yes Father.”

 

“Good, now, go gather what you need. I must leave as well, you’ve been accepted and the bags have no doubt already been taken care of.”

 

“You’re not going to help me move in?”

 

“Sansa, you’re twenty years old, a woman grown and you want to become a knight. Your sister will help you, now I expect good letters coming my way about your progress, and a phone call every Sunday night.”

 

“Yes father.”

 

“Good, now run along, I must go now.”

 

Sansa reached out to hug her father who smiled and kissed the very top of her head, before taking a step back and opening a booklet before pressing his hand to it, muttering Old Tongue under his breath and disappearing into a flash of grey. The lycan took a deep breath and grabbing her bag from the side table and walked out the double doors.

 

She was meet with a pair of jade, violet and grey eyes. One set belonging to her calmed down sister, the jade belonging to a beautiful girl with cascading brown curls, and a willowy young woman with deep purple eyes and unfurled black dragon wings emerging from her back. She couldn’t help but notice that the blonde woman had a clawed grip on the back of Arya’s neck, obviously keeping her sister in place.

 

Their names dripped into her mind as they stood there-- Daenerys Targaryen and Margaery Tyrell. Just like the dream.

 

“Arya, who are your... friends?”

 

“I am Ser Margaery Tyrell of the Order of Black and White, The Lady of Roses, First Class.” the brunette spoke, her voice light and musical. Sansa felt a prickling in her spine that signalled her wolf’s interest in the woman.

 

“Ser Daenerys Targaryen of the Order of Black and White, the Dragon Queen.” the blonde released her grip on Arya’s neck, who surged away and moved closer to the wall a sullen look on her face. “First Class, obviously.”

 

“They’re here to help you move, Margaery is a Teacher in the Order, she’ll be teaching you Magic and Spywork, Daenarys is our local history expert and will be giving you lessons in History, along with helping in Magical Binding.” her sister spoke evenly, not bothering to look at her, scuffing her boots on the ground.

 

“I heard you say that you are a teacher yourself, Arya?” Sansa tried to stay as civil as possible.

 

“Weapons Mastery in the Training portions of the class, and Beast Control for those who are born with shape-shifting or beastly powers. Margaery is also a terramancer, mostly with gardens and such.” she waved a hand at the brunette who wagged her finger at her sister.

 

“Which you really need to stop burying bodies in there Arya.” her sister gave the woman a sheepish grin and relaxed slowly with her teasing.

 

“Hey now, demon blood makes great fertilizer for your plants! Don’t go gettin’ annoyed now Flower Power.” Arya rolled her eyes and leaned against the wall, “You were the one complaining that your flowers weren’t growing well, I just gave them a little... push is all.”

 

“As you can see, your sister is quite versed in being an annoyance Page Sansa.” Daenerys remarked as she looked over her nails. “Though I ought to think we should get moving, Arya over here gets punchy when she hasn’t eaten in what... seventeen hours I believe.”

 

“I do not get punchy.”

 

“Seventeen hours. Without food. No bread. No meat. I don’t see how you do it personally, Drogo is quite impressed with you to say the least.” Daenerys smiled down at Arya, and Sansa could see the minute height difference between them, while Margaery towered over the dragon and the lycan. 

 

“Drogo carries around sandwiches as a part of his emergency pack, that man is always starving Dany.” Arya shook her head and swiped her hand over her pocket and produced a key from it and tossed it, “But we’re getting off topic here, Sansa this is the key to our room. We share with my partner Gendry Waters, a Second-Class Knight, until we manage to steal some bunk beds you can sleep in my bed. Don’t lose it because I’m not making you another one.”

 

“Though if you do manage to lock yourself out of the room, knock on my door I’ve got a spare key.” Margaery quipped as Arya began to walk away, Dany shortly coming after her. The Tyrell girl shook her head and offered her arm to Sansa who took it with a soft grateful smile. “Dany and I check up on her after her missions, She-Wolf hasn’t figured out that she actually needs to go to the Infirmary after a mission to get check-ups. It gets quite annoying really.”

 

“Does she get hurt often?”

 

“No, your sister is too fast for most demons to catch really, but when she does get caught by something it’s always bloody. Arya is strong and fast, but she’s very small, if she gets in the grip of a Dracron or Minotaur it always means that she comes back home bloody, bruised and broken.” Margaery frowned as if remembering something, “Some missions are worse than others. She once fell into a coma while out in a field after a particularly harsh battle with a Dark Griffin, took us three days to find her, nearly died she did. Do you remember that Sansa?”

 

The redhead frowned, “I.... don’t think I know what you’re talking about.”

 

The terramancer looked startled, “But your father came, he was here for a week, praying to the Old Gods while she was being worked on. I thought he’d inform the family.”

 

“Father doesn’t update us much on Arya really, I think he’s still hurt she chose to come all the way to Braavos for training. She could have stayed North or went to the Wall like Jon, but she came here to Braavos of all places.” Sansa sighed, it was a tender subject bringing up the small rift between Arya and their Father, she knew that. Everyone in the family did, Arya was the only one off the continent, away from home and pack, it was like a gaping hole in their family to have her gone even though it’s been so many years since she left. But their father seemed to feel it worse than anyone else, the effect of not having a member of the pack near. The seeming loss of his favorite pup, precious daughter, no-one seemed to measure up to his favorite child. It was obvious.

 

“They seem very close, Arya is always writing to him, on missions, here at the House, calls him even on Fridays before we all go out drinking and dueling around the Moon Pool.” Margaery commented, “Calls him Papa even when she’s on the phone with all of us in the room, I mean, your sister is rather brash but to actually call him that in front of us takes some guts. We’re a teasing bunch you know.”

 

“They’ve always been close, his little  _ pup _ , little  _ wolf _ .” Sansa tightened her grip on Margaery's arm, “He named her after our Great-Grandmother, a Knight of the North who was known for her bravery and skill. Father said that they were very close before she died.” While Sansa was named for some random Stark who married some Karstark or other, Arya was named for a true Northerner, another point in her sister’s favor. 

 

“You sound quite angry about that Sansa.” Margaery watched as Daenerys slipped an arm around Arya’s neck, leaning in close to talk to her, her massive black and red wings covering her sister’s back.

 

“I just always felt so overlooked when it came to our Father, Bran was Mum’s golden boy, Robb is gonna be this great knight and heir to the Stark name and pack, Jon was the son of Lyanna and Rhaegar, Rickon was the baby, then there was Arya who was father’s favorite. It's hard to compete with the favorite you know.”

 

“I can only imagine, we often compete with Arya for attention, she is the Paladin’s favorite after all.”

 

“I know, I was at her knighting ceremony when she was called into his Service.”

 

“It caused quite a stir, Jaqen rarely teaches knights, no one really expected Arya to be the one he chose as his successor either. She’s always been volatile, wicked strong to be sure, but volatile unable to control her emotions like what the House wants. All it took was a year under Ser H'ghar tutelage and she came out with near complete self-control.”

 

Sansa laughed and Dany along with Arya turned around to seek what was so funny, “I’m sorry, it’s just... Arya literally just went feral on me back there, I don’t see much self-control.”

 

“This is different, this is personal, but when it comes to battle or training or missions, Arya is the pinnacle of self-control. We’re all good to be sure, but Arya comes close to becoming Faceless when she takes up the sword and shield.”

 

“Faceless?”

 

“It’s what the Knights are called when they reach the pinnacle of service. They become Faceless Men, Knights who bear no arms, no emotions, no earthly attachments or personal glory or honor. They give up their very faces and wear a mask of black and white. Arya has been very close a number of times of becoming truly Faceless on a mission, I believe Jaqen is pushing that for her.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“One step closer to becoming Paladin, you don’t become the Paladin for being a great knight, you become Paladin for the good of the Order. To chose the route based upon the needs of the greater good than your own glory or the Order’s glory. One has to become Faceless to do this, to make the harsh decisions on the path to justice and light.” Margaery grimaced, “We’ve seen first-hand what harsh decisions look like Sansa, and it’s not all stories and songs of knights and demons and ladies. It’s blood and betrayal and hatred.”


End file.
